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 Nov 2017 Tiffany Ann Martin
Iska
unspoken words spill through the air,
dripping and falling both vile and fair.
unspoken love unspoken hate,
I see it all no need to blate.
In anger your vision clouds in reds,
when cold clarity smears my vision instead.
In sadness you worry and weep in pain,
wondering if perhaps I'm just not the same.
But sorrows, I have no time to attend,
all I can do is assure your still my friend.
In happiness you claim, I'm the best friend you've had,
when in reality I'm wondering, if you've gone quite mad. :)
I see it all, both old and new..
from the silent worry to
the unspoken "I love you"s
to this I say no need to fret
for you I can not abandon yet.
and as to the love, you keep silent in fear,
you know that I cannot help you here...
I belong to another, yet i still hold you dear,
and know, that as a friend, I shall always be here.
for the eyes of one man alone to hold
for to him this poem is carved from gold.
To continuously steal
Someone's tribal sense
Of pride and dignity,

Is the lowest act
Of narcissistic bigotry!

By Lady R.F. (C) 2017
 Nov 2017 Tiffany Ann Martin
L B
What She Look Like?
  
…Like one
tenderly hushing
water in her lap
Elemental peace
No place to go
No more to be
…Like the ocean
in the background
of a photo on a warm spring day
belying
rage
and the random possible
thrash--

out!

at all guilty ******* in her path
Toss in the next sentient soul
who should happen to pass
within range
who should have seen
who should have known
what a storm could do….

Moody in the aftermath
and sorrier than rain
With the tide in retreat
grumbling excuses
Hiding out waist-deep in dusk’s Merlot
Waiting for night to sleep it off

to heal the rifts
cleanse the shame

Rising
yellow, bright— and

“What the hell happened, here?!”

____


Her hair
a winter’s tragedy of trees
upside down—
No wait— the wind has put her right
to ragged random branches
swaying, wet with intermittent hues
of dark and silver
caught in collar, flying inelegant and free
at the shoulders of the levee
tossed and softening shyly
sagging jaw and nose a stump of tree
All perspective changes…

if you watch a while—

She’ll raise her eyes
into the sunset
to catch an eagle
entering
flight

…and then you might…

___

She looks like—
a pudgy robin
querying grass
mud soaked
that hides the fire of her breast
tugging at a worm
more than half her length
“I will feed them, **** you!
Give it up, you son of a snake!”
_____

...Don’t miss her hour of music though
for anything
Encroaching darkness
from the rooftops
she listens to the hearts she breaks

Remember this in winter
she can give but she will take
it out on February
when you’re longing
for her
Only male robins do the singing; females do the choosing.  

There are very few recent  photos of me.  Thus this poem.
The winter is slowly killing her
and me
but on the deck by her side
at the low tide
the river at three is a sparkling glass
feeding a belief
there would be no end of us.
With her on the river Bidyadhari, Nov 5, 2017, 3 pm.
slowly the fog creeps
in our township's sleeping streets
dense is its heavy shroud
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